Nicknames

Muffin. Honey. Honeybuns. Babe. Baby. The boy and I used to always mock couples who have nicknames like these for each other. We always thought it was way too cutesy for us. Individually, we didn't really have nicknames ourselves either, with friends or with significant others.

Of course, having said that, we do have names we endearingly called each other, but we would NEVER utter them in public. So they don't exist...not really. Right?

The other day, the Czar sent me an e-mail just saying hello. That part I could get over. It was surprising but not overly so. The ending was what got me. He called me a nickname that roughly translates to "cutie" in English, something he probably hasn't called me in more than 15 years.

It was a one-line e-mail, but I thought about it again and again over the next few days. A nickname is such an intimate thing in my mind, and "intimate" is not how I would describe my relationship with him.

Maybe I've already told this story here, but it just goes to show how much it's stuck with me. I think the feeling of being a "Daddy's Little Girl" is one of the sweetest dynamics of a father-daughter relationship, but it's one that I'm not familiar with. When I was very young, probably 5 or 6, I remember watching a baseball or football game with the Czar. In typical fashion, I laid my head in his lap. But this time, he told me to get up. I wasn't to sit with him that way anymore. I was too old. The effect was like road rash. It burned and it scarred, and it changed things. It was breaking ground where a huge chasm would continue to grow between us.

So when the Czar called me "cutie," it brought me back to a time where I was Daddy's Little Girl, a short-lived time but a time that did indeed exist. So it IS true. That DID happen.

Strong, but Not Tough (Part 1)

Growing up, I was painfully shy. I remember grocery shopping with the Czar and Queen one day and asking where something was. When they told me I should ask a clerk, I immediately burst into tears. The thought of talking to a stranger filled me with an intense and inconsolable fear.

Whenever the Czar would discipline me with his time-tested method of endless hours of berating and yelling, I was never allowed to speak up. Of course, the occasional yes ("Do you agree with me?") and no ("Do you think what you did was right?") were in the script, but outside of that, I was to keep my mouth shut. I learned very early on that truth and justice had no place, but instead compliance and silent suffering were the easiest way to escape the verbal and sometimes physical lashings. I resolved that nothing was worth looking at that enraged, red-veined eyeball as he whipped me with a hanger, comb, shoehorn, whatever was nearby.

As I grew older, I got the bright idea that I should at least say something if the Czar misunderstood something. Any time I attempted at justifying or even proving my innocence, the result was merely more culpability. Whether it was for talking back or suggesting that they wrong (how dare I?), any words from me were met with more punishment and anger.

I learned that the most my "voice" would ever be was an internal wail of injustice, an all-night crying session, a cold ice-pack on the welts on my thighs. But even nurture can't quiet quell nature entirely. Outside the realm of home, I began to find my strength. Excelling in academics earned me a bit of authority, at least with classmates and teachers, and I began to find joy in others hearing me.

When I moved out for college, I decided to reinvent myself. I didn't want to be the girl that people knew was smart but never invited to parties. I didn't want to be the sucker who always took the blame because someone else told me to. I learned to be friendly. I learned to talk to strangers. I learned to talk to large groups of people. Recently, the boy asked me why I never considered business as a major. I explained that, as a shy person all my life, I never thought a career of working with other people and mingling suited me.

Anyone who met me after high school, knows me as a fairly outgoing, often funny and goofy person. I'm not a natural leader, but I'm not afraid to lead. I wouldn't say I'm combative, but I'm not afraid to call people out or make complaints when it's called for.

But at the root of my being, the insecurity and fear of returning to that once-lonely girl whose pillow was her only audience lead me on a spiral of anxiety. Like an offensive lineman, breaking through a row of bodies, I see everything as an obstacle. Everyone looks like the Czar to me. They're trying to shut me up. They don't believe me. They think I'm mindless. They'll never listen. They'll never care unless I force them. I bite, punch, kick, shove my way to the podium, when there may be no obstacles at all. The longer it takes to reach an assurance that I've been heard, understood, feels like precious seconds of holding my breath underwater. As another second ticks by, my heart quickens, my breath shallows, my mind races, and panic grows. I flail, I reach, but I can't seem to break the surface, find any relief.

While explaining this feeling to someone recently, I mentioned that I had felt weak for so long that I had to teach myself, make myself, be strong. They replied that, while I can be strong, and being strong is good, I didn't have to be so tough. That the forceful and abrasive nature with which I demand from people only recreates the loneliness. Navigating clumsily from one extreme to the other, I guess I haven't quite picked up the skill of asserting my strength with grace. I only know this because I see the one I love most has scratches and bruises from my pointless attempts to be heard.

From the Outside In

Ok, a month has gone by and I've had nothing to say... But this is not to say that there's nothing to talk about.

The Czar and Queen are moving! The Czar has moved OUT OF STATE, a clear 3-hour plane ride away, and the Queen will follow in a few weeks. You'd think the very notion of freedom, in the metaphorical and now physical senses, would shove me into utter giddiness. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited as hell. But it all feels very strange at the moment. It's like I'm watching my life unfold, only I'm not really in it.

I've been wondering lately why it is that I don't get overwhelmed with emotions like I used to. Don't get me wrong, the anxiety of pending relationship doom will send me into a tailspin, but where's the quickened pace of my heartbeat when a road trip is coming up. Or the screaming, jumping up and down elation when I hear great news. Or even just telling the story really, really loud? No?

Maybe it's just the pure weight of what those things mean. It's exciting, of course, all that's happening or going to happen in the next few months before my nuptials. But there is a LOT that is changing. The biggest transition of my life (up to this point) is now coinciding with the greatest and maybe most permanent experience of separation in the single, most painful relationship in my life to this point, too. And it's not as simple as opening presents on Christmas morning. The joy of separation is also fused with grieving the end of very significant phase in my relationship with the Czar, the fear or anxiety of what's to come and the big responsibilities of being a wife and then a mother... These are crazy big changes!

I can hardly wrap my mind around it right now. But the bottom line is that there could be no better way or time for all this to be happening. Maybe more explanations on why that is to come soon.

Drowning in my Cereal Bowl

I told a friend of mine that I feel like I'm drowning in a cereal bowl. I'm fully aware that my problem is a mere 2 inches of liquid, but I'm still drowning.

I have friends going through much bigger challenges and struggles... childlessness, illness, marital turmoil, financial instability. Yet I still feel like my world is crumbling. It doesn't make me feel any better to grasp a larger perspective. It matters none.

The past few weeks, the boy and I have been fighting often. One insecure thought begets another, and before you know it, I'm in a frenzy of worry and panic. I keep telling myself that the wedding is just the beginning, no matter what the Czar and Queen do to me, that there is hope. But none of this matters. I live in fear of what's to come, knowing it will hurt.

I used to think that this "worst case scenario" thinking was my way of preparing for the worst so that I could be pleasantly surprised, rather than hoping for the best and being disappointed. At the end of the day, though, this kind of thinking only breeds more and more anxiety for me. I know I tend to be fairly vague, so allow me to explain...

There is an issue on the horizon that I know will create a rupture with the Czar and Queen. I know exactly what is to come. I don't have to deal with anything right now. It's been quiet on the homefront, even pleasant. Quiet. But the thoughts of how I know this issue will rear its ugly head will not go away. I imagine the verbal abuse, the names, the lies, the anger. The pain I know I have to endure, quietly, starts affecting me as if it were happening now, because I know it will ruin me. It will crush me and ruin me and set me ablaze.

Then I start thinking about the wedding. I think of how they will be angry, they will cause a stir, they will show anger on their faces. The Queen will weep at the ruin that has become of her life. The Czar will scowl at the bastard of a child he's giving away. And because the Czar and the Queen can deflate and demean me like none other in this world, my wedding will be a heart-wrenching, painful occasion.

What some may not understand is why I stay. Maybe it's a desire to please that I still hold on to, but I honestly believe that leaving now, just months before the wedding, will only cause more of the same, if not worse, for me in the future. It is by no means an ideal alternative to stay, but as painful as it is, it really could be worse. It's not a matter of "how can they treat you like this" or "don't set a precedent" or "they're going to have to learn to accept things." None of those things matter, because in their world, I am the worst of the worst. I'm disobedient.

It's funny how American culture teaches so much about being your own person, making your own choices, forging your own path. I grew up that way. I learned to do all of that, and it stands directly in opposition to what they hoped and dreamed for their children when they came here. They had hoped that I would be just like them, only with more opportunity for success in fortune.

This is why I'm drowning. Sure, there are things that consume me now that seem so trivial to some people, and they don't get why it upsets me so much or why I bother. But it's not really about the milk in my cereal bowl. I'm someone who has been drowning for the past 10 or so years. And now I'm drowning in my cereal bowl at a kitchen table afloat on a raft full of holes in the middle of the ocean. Lifting my head now only means its the ocean that will steal my breath and not the cereal milk.

Student by Day, Streetwalker by Night

I'm well into my 20s, actually closer to my 30s, but I have what you might consider a "curfew on steroids." Even in high school, I didn't have the traditional curfew my friends had. It wasn't ok to go see a movie as long as I was home by 10. It wasn't ok to go to a dance as long as I was home by midnight. I never went out. This might account for why I had but 2 friends in high school, really. We would hang out at someone's house until about 4, when I rushed home to get there before the Czar or Queen were home from work. This worked for the most part. My social life was ablaze from 3 to 4pm. Hoppin.

When I came home during breaks in college, I made sure to find a seasonal job and pick up as many hours as I could. Take your shift? Sure! Take an extra shift? Sure! Someone called in sick? I'll stay late, sure! I schemed to make sure I was closing so that I could wake up late, enjoy a silent house, and then leave before they came home. There were a few times where I would say I was working and instead hang out with friends, and those were glorious days of freedom.

After college, I moved back home and a dilemma presented itself. I had lived by my own schedule, coming and going as I please, for 4 years. What now? It became very clear that my non-curfew from high school was still in place after I babysat for my pastor. Yep. Pastor.

At the time, my pastor was probably in late 30s or early 40s, and a friend of his was finally getting married. He was to be a groomsman, so he and his wife were looking for a babysitter for their 3 children while they celebrated this very special occasion. I was a graduate student at the time, so I gladly offered my help. Besides, they lived just 7 or so minutes away from my house.

That night, I played some Scrabble with the eldest, shared some girl talk with the middle, and put the stubborn youngest to sleep successfully. I was enjoying the silence of the house when my pastor called to say he'd be a little late. Maybe 30 minutes. This would put me home past midnight, so I called the Czar. The response I got beyond baffled me.

What kind of church is this? What kind of pastor stays out and leaves his kids at home past midnight? You... are a street walker. What are you doing!? You're so stupid. This is ridiculous!

Yep. He called me a prostitute. Babysitting for my pastor who lives 7 minutes away until 12:30 on a Saturday night as a 23-year-old clearly means I'm selling my body for money. Is it any wonder that I've learned to lie so easily to them? It's very sad, but it's the only way I can get any sense of freedom. So if anyone asks, I'm working late tonight...

Moving?

I've always thought (sometimes quite dramatically) that something hugely tragic would need to happen in order for the Czar to see that he's not every in control of anything outside of himself. Whether that meant I fell ill or he fell ill, I was open to anything. The boy says I should wait before I "wish harm upon them," but the logic behind it stands, I think. When do drug addicts finally admit when they have a problem? When they've hit "rock bottom." The Czar is addicted to control. He must hit rock bottom.

I recently learned that the Czar's work may be changing. Circumstances have left him to seek out other employment, including options that may require a move. Is it utterly evil of me to hope for that? I honestly believe that, in this case, the sayings "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and "what you don't know can't hurt you" will go neatly hand in hand and ride off into the sunset. Bemoan my cliches all you want, but here's to good interviews and a little bit of luck.

I Am The Exception...Every Time

It's funny how the Queen and Czar are demanding. They are demanding of absolute and unquestioned forgiveness, grace, and apology from everyone else, yet they never see the need to grant those to anyone else. After the debacle involving the boy, my mom reminded me that it's just an apology now that would suffice... for something he never intended, for something that was completely misunderstood, for something he did.not.do.

You've got to be joking me. I wonder in what world it was where they were served endlessly and to no limit that they expect this now. Bite me. No apologies are coming your way for the thing that you misunderstood that should never have offended you that you are demanding so that I can plan my wedding to make you happy so that you will get the wedding you've always dreamed of. No. Bite me.

Since when did everyone else become so entitled to OUR wedding? Where's my gin & tonic?

You'll Be in Jail

During one conversation, the Czar told me to get a firm grasp on my husband-to-be. Until recently, I had the boy dress in his finest and polish his appearance each time he met the Czar and the Queen, as anyone would when they meet their beloved's parents. However, as the wedding draws near, I knew that they would need to be introduced to his quirks and eccentricities, that quite frankly, were exactly what attracted me to him. Yes, he has morning breath when he wakes up, he leaves his socks on the floor, he hates to dust, his dishes go unwashed, and *gasp* he does not always wear a suit with his hair combed to the side.

The aberrations presented were more than the Czar could stomach. What kind of parents would allow their children to dress outside the terms of Court guidelines? He wanted the boy to change his look, to abandon his individual "style" and to conform to his demands. There's a fundamental difference in belief that forms the foundation of the differences between me and the Czar. To him, it is my mission, given at birth, to realize the dream he had when he set sail for the New World. For me, it had always been my mission to find my own dream and make it my reality. In the New World, it is up to you make your own happiness. These two differing views are undoubtedly at odds with one another.

That's why it's no wonder that the Czar constantly speaks of "control." Clearly, the boy's parents had lost control of him. I had better learn to control him, to make him listen to my demands, which should coincide with their own, lest he control me... then, they say, I will be in jail. He actually said I would be in jail when I marry the boy. I am nearing my 30s, and I'm unable to share a meal with a friend without getting a lecture about how unnecessary friends are. I cannot buy a gift without hearing how it is not enough. I'm told that I don't spend enough money on the Czar and Queen. I'm told I should not marry the boy I have chosen. And when I leave this place is when I'll be in jail? Oh, the irony.

Imaginary Kingdoms

There is an irony in the Czar's title... if it walks like a duck... talks like a duck.... it's a duck, right? So yes, he barks orders, makes his own rules, utters the occasional "off with his head"... he is king of the castle...

But no one told him that beyond the walls of our house lies a whole world that operates on a different set of rules...on the value of the individual. As in every individual... not him... the individual. But when the Czar climbs into car, heads to work or the golf course, he believes his rules still apply. He's the Czar at work... he can do no wrong. He's the Czar amongst his friends... they can do no right.

Have you ever tried to grab a speck of something in a cup of water, only to have it go farther and farther each time you get close? A recent explosion of anger from the Queen resulted in an outburst from me. I told her that I had recently gone to the ER with abdominal pains, the result of an ulcer... which I had aptly named after her and the Czar. I had pain meds flowing through an IV and spent the better part of 2 weeks trying to recover. Did she know this?

I don't know what I expected. Some sort of epiphany on her part about how she and the Czar drive me to such head-splitting anxiety? There was no acknowledgment of my recent medical dramatics, and instead she lamented... what did she do to deserve such blame from me for things that are my own fault? Hmm... that IS a mystery.

Under Czar Rule

The thing about being under the rule of the Czar is that the rules don't have to make any logical sense. Laws are not "passed" by any majority rule, and they do not need to be for the sake of the people. If the Czar wants it, the Czar shall have it.

To be married to the Czar means that you have to buy into the crazy, at least a little bit. If you didn't, you wouldn't be married. If you could get out of the marriage, maybe you would indulge the little logic you have left, but alas... what would you do? Where would you go? The Queen is as much a prisoner as the people, but she has just a little more power. Her tantrums hold consequences for them.

In our house, the Czar is prone to fits of anger and verbal tirades, particularly when the life he imagined for himself and his family do not appear. Growing up, the Czar had dreamed he would have doting children who worshipped the ground he walked on, hung on every word he spoke, and jumped at the opportunity to please him. When he found his Queen, he made promises to her of the lavish life they would live together, far beyond the lifestyles of anyone they knew. He showed her his dream of the doting children. How perfect their life would be! But it would not be easy. To establish your kingdom in a new land is not a small feat, and it would take years of hard work, blood, sweat, tears... sacrifice. But they would do it together. For their dream.